


And The Sun Sets For The Last Time

by CravenWyvern



Series: DS Extras [21]
Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Lights Out Mode, Loneliness, Social Anxiety, headcanons galore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-10
Updated: 2018-06-10
Packaged: 2019-05-20 10:15:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14892711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CravenWyvern/pseuds/CravenWyvern
Summary: It's dark, here, has been ever since he got here.The sun doesn't rise.





	And The Sun Sets For The Last Time

Snow crunched underfoot, ice cracking and splitting the earth in the places were the heavy weight had grown thick and solid, unused to touch and movement for so long. Powder snow was new and light, frozen grasses and sprigs of hibernating life jutting up in places, and walking through some of these areas, these undisturbed places was making to be more trouble than it was worth.

There was little to no sign of anything else to have passed over, only the light traces of rabbit feet and markings, some slight shoveled hills from the still awake moles. Maxwell straightened up, fogged air puffing from his mouth with the snow almost to his knees, heavy beefalo wool cloak hanging from his shoulders as he raised the lanturn up to brighten the darkness away.

The bulbed light spread about, clear and shining over the fresh snow, and already his feet were numb, worn down shoes doing nothing to help insulate. The cloak did well enough, adjusting the heavy hood and free hand going to pull it tighter about himself, and he tilted his head to listen.

Silence, silence, and then there was the faint hint of sound, the sound right before true noise, like a slight, bubbled intake of breath, deep and engulfing.

And then a call, a scream almost, high and loud and foreign to the ears, pitching as it was bellowed out, a ringing accompanying its echo. When it faded, the winter silence was all encompassing in the blackness, night having almost increased in its hue all about him.

Thankfully he didn't hear any wheezing or groaning as well. The giant was too far away for that.

Having already known where the damn thing was made him more at ease; its wandering in the desert had nothing to do with him, though he presumed it to be smart enough to not bother the dragons nest and cause unneeded drama. Even with its size it would not be a victor in a fight with the Dragonfly, who was very much hibernating in the deeper parts of her lava pools and caverns.

Last time he had seen it, full moon on the rise, it had climbed its way out of the forest, spider webbing tangled in its thick fur as it abandoned crashing down trees in favor of the hound dens out in the wastelands. Perhaps it had grown tired of spider flesh.

Better hound than himself, he had decided, abandoning the desert in order to not draw its attention. He had other things to do anyway.

When there was no more calls, the previous bungle now all but evaporated, the vision of the great beasts shaggy head, twisted antlers rising high like grasping hands and glowing bright eye as it would have leaned forward and taken such a deep breath, massive lungs and puffing throat finally fading from mind, Maxwell huffed a sigh and turned his gaze back to the thick snow, raising the lanturn up. Slogging through it with heavy, messy steps, always trying to keep his balance as well as not step on something he couldn't see, the edges of the cloak dampening and dragging crystal powered snow into its fur, he continued on alone.

These forays were becoming more common of him, wandering out into the dark with no company. Dangerous, risky even, but not as risky as it was for the other of his small, two person group.

Wendy may be able to take care of herself, yet he worried.

Whether or not it was because that was what a good uncle should do, or because his own survivability lowered without another's help was not thought about.

But he wasn't actively looking for her. The girl was a little more knowledgeable of this particular world, having obviously lived in it quite awhile before he himself got here, and if she wished to go out on her own so be it. He had his own plans, goals, and doing such alone was perhaps the better option.

She was obviously not on the surface either. The girl seemed to have a general dislike of leaving the caves, and in essence her base camp. He was a little more flexible.

Wendy may not have a care for the general size and area of this landmass, but Maxwell found that knowing these things made life a whole lot easier. Especially if they ever end up having to make a run for it from the caverns.

The lantern swinging from his hand, swaying with its bright, easy light, he raised it as he passed more trees, leafless birches and leaf heavy pines. The silence of winter night was heady, thick upon him, and the undisturbed snow was all the more eerie.

The utter solitude of up here, the mix of unease and yet calming quiet, was a strange one that he had no qualms with. To be perfectly honest, he was rather used to this sort of atmosphere.

Without a constant background tune, obviously, thought he supposed it wouldn't need to be a physical presence when his own mind conjured it up perfectly. The silence was never really silent, unfortunately.

The snow gave easily under his weight, careful to not fall into slopes or dips that would bring the snow up to his waist, and after a bit of pushing onward there was a sudden incline. A hill, not very visible with all these trees in the way and the encompassing darkness, but after a few steps and realizing the level of snow had now dropped to his ankles Maxwell had already decided that it was the best course of action.

If he wasn't careful he'd freeze out here, not to mention getting sick or losing the use of his already numbed legs, frostbite a constant threat.

Soon enough winter would end, and the coming spring rains would be upon them. Parts of the caverns would flood, fill with icy water as the hidden, sleeping things of the deep woke up, and they'd have to take measures to keep the camp intact. 

Just like the last season, and the season before that, and the season before that.

Maxwell sighed, finally reaching the crest of the snowy hill, raising the lanturn up to look about, arm just starting to ache from the object's weight. He's been here for too long.

The light caught something this time, a difference between bleak birch tree bark or shaggy ferned pines. Shuffling through the snow, not very deep up here oddly enough, he made his way over to the burned out husk of a tree.

Ash still drifted around the base, though no embers were visible. Chunks of charcoal, peeling and falling from the ruined trunk, littered the ground, and Maxwell took a moment to stoop down and gather a few larger pieces, stowing them away in the pack at his side. He could chop it down, a few good swings to crumble it up, but Maxwell straightened up and gave the husk an odd look.

He wasn't the one to have done this, and Wendy certainly hasn't ventured out this way.

Swinging the lantern about, examining the ground, there was the faint traces of footprints, scuffs in the snow and even in the ashy base of the tree. Nothing he could identify, as if he had any knowledge in set markings anyway, but Maxwell huffed out a foggy breath, already frowning.

Someone else was around here.

It wasn't as if he's not seen traces of others, usually skeletons next to burnt up remains of attempts to keep light going, every once in awhile a decaying corpse or the lingering, foggy remains of someone not yet willing to fade just yet, but his time in the caves did make meeting others nearly impossible. Wendy had been a chance of luck, on both their parts; anyone else and he didn't think he'd be as well off as he was right now.

Whoever this was, they were certainly not all that prepared. The trees corpse, untouched save for the chaotic footprints about it, was evidence of that.

Maxwell grumbled to himself, incomprehensible and just sound to help break the silence, a tenseness settling on his shoulders that he hadn't noticed at first. This could mean one of two things.

Either that someone was very dead, making any search for them useful as to nab any supplies left behind, or-

That someone was alive, perhaps not well but enough to be dangerous.

He really, really didn't want to go off looking for them.

A moment was spent standing there, mind turning as he weighed his options. In the back of his head was another choice, another option, and it sounded much too similar to his nieces voice.

As if she would want another person in her camp, but then again.

Perhaps it was the spider child.

The thought that such a person, young and more ill fated than most, was what made Maxwell hiss out a resigned breath and swing around, eyeing the tracks left in the snow before setting out after them. There was no telling if it was shoe made or claws, no knowing if this was indeed who he sort of hoped it was, but the possibility was there.

He couldn't return back to camp with only the charcoal, and certainly couldn't tell Wendy that he left her possible friend out here to die. To say nothing about it was too dangerous for his tastes, perhaps instead to have the vikings presence wandering this world, and he'd be putting the both of them in danger if he did so.

Well, perhaps not Wendy. The viking wasn't a child murderer, he was fairly certain.

It was best if he at least checked about for awhile, a half hearted attempt to show for his time. It would be a waste to freeze out here and find no one at all.

Swinging the lantern back and forth, following the scattering, stumbling tracks this way and that, Maxwell ignored the ice numbed aching of his feet on crumbling snow, passing a few snow laden pines. Fogged air escaped his mouth with each breath, the cold heavy and encompassing in the pitch darkness, moonless and, currently, starless. There had to be clouds above, he supposed, to prevent the stars reach.

Autumn nights, especially after the dark heat of summer, were especially beautiful, he had to give the one of the Throne admiration for that. He had never thought of such a thing himself, frivolous and a waste of time really.

A night light that blinks every so often was his own idea, however. 

Moonless now, and a full moon would be a long time coming. It was always so bright out here, shining clear blue, and in a sense he actually enjoyed those times. 

It was hard to recognize the right times in the caves, unfortunately, and he's already missed the last few moonlit nights.

The shambled tracks were becoming more chaotic, dragging and stumbling, here and there a dip and mess of thrown snow, as if the traveler had fallen a moment or tripped up on their feet. Maxwell frowned, eyes narrowed as he followed the track; they must have been unimaginably cold at that point.

Walking around a pine, eyeing the sudden gouge in a snow drift and the obvious mad scramble having been made to get out of it, the way the steps grew closer and more dragged, Maxwell raised the lantern and froze as something caught his eye.

A small blip of flame, in the distance. Not too far away, not at all, and the weak light flickered, dwindled as he watched.

Someone was just ahead, and their fire was just about out.

He couldn't see any silhouette, no movement or shadow of movement, and as the flame shrunk Maxwell weighed his options, jaw tight and teeth ground together as his mind turned.

But there really wasn't much to think about, nor decide upon. He was already out here, slowly freezing himself, and an already aflame fire, no matter its size, would be useful to him. All to worry for would be retribution, but it didn't look as if anyone was standing, nor tending to their dying light.

Maxwell huffed out a tense breath, fog drifting from his lips, shivering a moment before making his way over, lantern raised as high as he could without looking silly. He needed to be able to see as much as possible as he approached.

The fire flickered and waved at his presence, snow crunching underfoot as he found the chaotic mess of a trail leading to it, scuffs and kicks in the snowfall, and he swung the lantern about to try and see if anyone was around.

It actually took a moment, the drifts and piles of snow somehow hiding the figure away, but there certainly was an attendee to this meager attempt at a fire.

And it certainly wasn't the spider child.

The scientist, of all people, and Maxwell silently snarled as he glared down at the small man, curled up and obviously not conscious, a thrown together straw roll underneath him in a vain attempt to keep the snow away. He didn't know how long the man's been here, but it was long enough that the recent snowfall he had emerged into from climbing the cavern stairs had been well underway, speckles of snowflakes and drifted powder having settled into greasy hair and worn clothing, rough face stiff.

Was he even alive?

That thought made him tilt his head, watch the man a moment to try and see if he was breathing, but from here it was impossible.

The lantern in his hand wasn't much help either, and after a moment Maxwell sighed, turning to the fire and digging through the pack at his side. The charcoal he had gathered earlier was tossed into the weak flame, almost snuffed it out for a moment before catching, the smell of smoke and flame sharp and clear in the unscented snowland. A log was added, particularly thick and unevenly cut, and the flame so suddenly fed back to life became more steady, a source of fuel balancing its light and heat.

With that out of the way, flickering orange and yellow light beating back the winter darkness with a wave of heated warmth, Maxwell took the lantern in both hands and switched it off, the sound of its humming inner workings fading into nothing before he settled it down into the thin powder of snow on the ground. The pack was next, slipping from his shoulder down into the snow, far enough away from the open flame as to keep it from catching. He had too much in there to allow for a mistake as that to happen.

And now onto the part he didn't quite wish to engage in.

The man was certainly not moving, asleep hopefully, clawed hands curled to his chest and knees pulled up, unconscious and yet still looking as angry and stiff as usual. Stooping down, balancing on his feet, Maxwell hesitantly looked him over, heavy frown still set on his face as his cloak started to warm from the blazing fire behind him.

Checking for a pulse wasn't quite what he did often, and he curled and uncurled his fingers for a moment, leather gloves stiff and cold still. He didn't want to take them off, protection even in their near uselessness, but having them on prevented him from feeling anything at all. As if his cold hands could be useful anyway, but that wasn't the point.

Sliding off one glove, more irritated than anything else as the cold immediately started to numb his fingers, the aching settling in with a surprising amount of speed, Maxwell hesitated a moment.

He had no idea on how to find a pulse.

But, it shouldn't be all that hard, he was fairly certain.

Laying a hand on the man, on his neck of all places was the epitome of discomfort, especially since he'd much rather not. When was the last time he's seen Wilson anyway?

He couldn't even remember, which was saying something he'd rather not think about.

His lack of knowledge turned out to be even worse than he had thought, the other man's skin deathly cold, and for a moment Maxwell almost thought he was well and truly dead.

And then there was a faint hint of something, movement, and he stiffened at feeling the man take a shallow breath of air under his hand, slow and almost nonexistent, a light flutter of life.

He immediately pulled his hand back, uncomfortable, massaging feeling back into his hand and trying to vainly chase the cold away before pulling the glove back on, stiff leather better than nothing at all.

He glared down at the unconscious man, thinking, knowing he was potentially wasting time by doing so.

He could just let Wilson die. It would be easy, just turn his back and sit by the fire, wait for himself to unthaw enough to go back to the caves. He wouldn't even have to say anything to Wendy, and it certainly wasn't going to be painful for the other man, already asleep as he was. Not to mention the man has died enough times already, probably knew he was going to end up this way by the time he had gotten to this point.

All the scuffs and dug about messes of flung snow on the trail made sense now; Wilson had probably been slowly freezing to death at that point, and had known it too, tripping and stumbling on frost numb legs. It was a surprise to even see him in one piece still, as frostbite usually set in quite quickly at these temperatures.

Leaning forward to look at the mans claws, not being able to differentiate between signs of frostbite or just the mans unnatural blackened skin, Maxwell humphed, quite loudly this time to break the silence settling upon him.

It would be very, very easy to turn about and forget this ever happened, and no skin from his own back no less. 

Very easy.

Maxwell heaved a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose for a moment.

Fine then. The man could end up being useful, somehow or other, even in the caves, even as debilitated as he would be from this cold. Maybe he'd actually help, do something that could ease the stress Maxwell was under from having to take care of a niece who saw him as nothing more than an old burden, and in all honesty if the man could shift any blame from Maxwell to his own shoulders then perhaps he was worth the effort.

Not to mention the energy and time Maxwell has already used at this point. It would be a complete waste if he left the man to die now.

Shrugging off the cloak, the cold immediately slipping in and making him shiver and tense his jaw, Maxwell bundled up the warmed fur, heavy hood lacking the usual horns that came from such beasts. He had forgone such additions, unlike his niece, who seemed to enjoy blowing into the damn things right next to him whenever he least expected it.

Really, Wilson might be doing him a favor if the man was able to handle Wendy. Maxwell has never been the best with children, and her older age just made things all the harder.

He had never thought his own flesh and blood would turn out to be such a handful.

Then again, he hadn't been any better at that age. 

With the beefalo fur cloak in hand, Maxwell stood up with a tight frown. The man could still die, peering down at the almost completely still scientist, only a faint hint of clouded breath from him and the ever so slight shivering. 

But then he'd have wasted his damn time.

With that in mind, he swung the cloak over the mans silent form, letting it drift down a moment before hissing out a sigh of frustration and crouching down to make sure it was doing its job. Just the act of having to touch the man had already made his stomach churn, of having to be around someone else after so long.

It wasn't as if Wendy and he were close, as if they did more than speak a few words and glance at each other oddly from time to time. Fighting cave worms and spiders did not require any such close contact, and for the most part he kept his distance.

The company of the damnable rabbits was less cold and stressful than his own niece, so putting himself into positions where he actually had to handle someone was nonexistent.

The only time he ever had to was when the shadows got too close to camp, when he had to wrap arms about her to restrain her and stare the damn things down, daring them to strike when he was perfectly sane. Yet that had been an earlier time, before their places in this dark world had been set, and now he knew she kept a close eye on her mental state. She didn't need him for all that much, to be perfectly honest.

Perhaps, he thought, pursing his lips in a tense frown as he haphazardly bundled up the cloak around the mans prone figure as much as he was willing to do, perhaps a third person around would aid him more than he had thought.

In dept like this, and Wilson would be breaking his “gentlemanly” ways if he left Maxwell behind.

He sat back on his feet, looking over his work for a moment. The cloak was for a taller person, and very easily dwarfed Wilson under it. He wasn't quite willing to cover up the man's face all the way, but now he didn't look quite as...pitiful as before.

Maxwell stared at him, still catching the slight shivers and trembles that wracked the man's smaller frame, watched as Wilson actually moved for the first time since he had seen him, curling up tight, claws digging into the fur and breathing deeply for a moment.

That had to be a good sign of some sort, right? At least he wasn't dead yet.

Returning back to the fire and his pack, eyeing its smaller flame and thus tossing in another log, ignoring the flicker of sparks and embers that immediately puffed out in the nights sheer cold, Maxwell rubbed his arms to try and regain some of his own body heat. Losing the cloak might end up being a bad move, but he couldn't just take it back.

Digging into his pack, grey leather and grass its general make not of his own hand but of a younger sorts, Maxwell took out the necessary supplies for a thermal stone.

He was no idiot, having lived out here for awhile already; going out without the necessary supplies available was a fools move, one he's mostly learned to grow out of.

He hadn't had one made earlier due to the cloaks use, but even with the fire going it was still all too cold.

Settling down with a heavy sigh a respectable distance away from Wilsons prone form, Maxwell arranged the stones and bits of flint he needed, the head of a pickaxe, already untied from its handle, in hand. These things were a little complicated to master, but it wouldn't take long.

The night carried on, as it always did, no moon or celestial lights in the sky, and Maxwell hunched his shoulders in concentration, fire light ever so slowly calming. By the time he had finished, heavy oval in hand, it's rough pebbled surface just barely discernible through his gloves, the fire had drifted down lower. 

Not enough for concern, but Maxwell slowly got himself back to his feet, brushing off chunks and scraps of stone and flint, joints aching from the cold and the stiffness he had been keeping to. He didn't have many logs left, mostly chunks of wood that could fit comfortably into his pack, but the fire didn't need more than a few to make the dark shrink back from warmth. With this heat the snow at the fires base was melting, showing off dark earth and yellowed, sleeping grasses, but the fire seemed to be in no danger from being extinguished.

Maxwell humphed at that, taking only a moment to glance at the fires make, stone ringing its base. At least Wilson knew how to make a fire fit to survive the snow.

With the fire back to its strength, he carefully set the stone down near the base, the warmth already catching within it and seeping through his gloves. It will only take a few moments for it to be warm enough, hot enough to be barely manageable.

And then, glancing over to Wilsons curled up form, the shivers coming in less and less, barely able to see his face with the cloak bundled up close, then he'd have to decide what to do next.

As if he hasn't committed by now.

The dark silence stood still around him, straightening up a moment and exhaling clouds of fog, looking out into the night. Without the moon and stars, cloud cover above, it seemed as if they were upon an island of flickering light, vulnerable and wavering in the steady creeping darkness.

Eventually, the night would win.

Maxwell frowned, turned his attention back to the thermal stone. Perhaps he's been listening to his niece a little too much.

It was hot to the touch, warming through his gloves, and for moment he held it, let it ease into his hands and seep through the aches and stiffness. Without his gloves it would be all too hot, burning even, and the air around the stone wavered and wobbled, faint trails of steam rising from where he was touching it.

It was rather...nice. Being out here, in the cold, in the dark, it made everything always so empty feeling. The lack of warmth, even from something like a watery sun, was a heavy worry that he could not fix, not here anyway.

Probably never, really. He had no power, not anymore.

Turning away from the fire, stone in hand, Maxwell heaved out a sigh as he walked over to the scientists still form, only wracked by violent shivering that seemed to be coming in waves.

Perhaps the man's body was running out of energy, couldn't keep steady in trying to stay warm. That was what shivering was, wasn't it, a way for the human form to keep warm?

Well, either way, Maxwell now had a thermal stone in hand. His own cold was manageable; Wilsons was not.

Crouching down, legs aching from the trek and the exhaustion of this wandering already taking root, he fiddled for a moment with the cloak, trying to figure out a way for the stone to be used without burning the man up. His touch prompted movement, Wilsons claws twitching as he seemed to try to bury his face into the fabric with jerky, cold borne movements, and Maxwell hissed out a sigh of frustration as he shoved the stone into the cloak, trying to wrap it for a moment as the heat soaked into the fur. It didn't even take a full minute before Wilson immediately latched onto it, movements odd and instinctive in unconsciousness, but unfortunately for Maxwell-

-he still had a grip on the stone. And now, he had claws and arms curled about his arm and pulled to the mans chest, a way to take the warmth to the core. While it certainly seemed to be the best way to keep the man from freezing to death, it was also pinning Maxwell into a very uncomfortable position.

With the fire behind him, his back already getting a mite too hot and his front growing cold, face heating up from the feeling of someone grabbing him and keeping him still, Maxwell was now starting to regret ever letting himself make an attempt at being nice. Or, for that matter, try to save someone's life.

Trying to pull his arm back for a moment, just loose tugging as a way to gauge the other man's grip on him, and damn it all Wilson was much too strong for how short of a person he was, even under the strain of freezing hypothermia and starvation.

Shoving the mans arms off of his hand wasn't working either, seemed to actually have the unconscious man grab onto him tighter, and Maxwell growled out a few incomprehensible curses as his frustration and discomfort got the better of him and he tried to wiggle his arm away more aggressively. For a moment it didn't seem like it would work, a sudden flare of desperation since he was stuck, of all things to be when he was most certainly out in the open and it was just a grasp on his arm, on his wrist, he wasn't really that stuck he wasn't at all tied down-

-and then Maxwell flopped backwards, thankfully not into the fire, arm relinquished and thermal stone not in his possession anymore.

He had to lay there a second, wet snow soaking into his back, to try and regain his breath and quell that horrid hysteria that had been creeping up on him from such a situation.

It was a silly thing, but even after all this time he still could feel the bands on his arms and ankles, tight about his chest.

Once he got himself up, brushing imaginary dust off himself and clearing his throat, pushing such thoughts to the back of his mind and thus pretending that it had never happened, Maxwell crossed his arms and gave the sleeping man a very, very mean glare.

If looks could kill, then he'd have wasted all his time since Wilson would have been dead ten times over.

All the other man did was curl around the blanket wrapped thermal stone, shivers lessening even more, and Maxwell huffed out a breath, teeth bared at nothing as he turned his head to look out into the darkness.

It was silent, out there, only the crackling and pops of the fire behind him, and the reminder of its presence made him rub his arms, fogged breath and already goosebumps on the back of his neck. It was cold.

And, Maxwell glancing over at the other man a second before turning to walk back to his pack, he had used his supplies on someone who probably would not even appreciate it.

There was little he could make with what he had left, the broken up pickaxe head tossed into the darkness and the rest of the crumbled rock swept and kicked away as best as he could, the snow not helping in the slightest. No way to create another stone, certainly nothing for a cloak of any sort, silk or fur, and now Maxwell felt more vulnerable to the cold than he had before.

Perhaps he should have thought this through a little better.

Aiming another glare at the sleeping man just made him antsy, absolutely knowing that a thermal stone coupled with beefalo wool would be practically heavenly with this winter cold. The fire blazed as strongly and as steadily as ever, and for a second he gave it a deep frown, wishing he had that ability to step into it and let it keep the cold off of him.

Alas, that gift was not his. It would just catch him on fire and burn him alive, which was not at all what he wanted at the moment.

Maybe later, when he's lost a few fingers and was starting to slow down, but hopefully that doesn't end up happening.

Another shiver went up his spine, harsher this time, and the flames warmth really wasn't doing him any good as it was. It was just too deep into winter, too dark and empty, allowing for this harsh temperature. The only thing he could be glad for was that at least there was no storm.

A blizzard would be the end of his run at this point, no way to get back to the caves in time, especially with another person, incapacitated as the man was. Even with the cloud cover, at least he could be assured it was going to be a calm night.

A calm, very cold, night.

Moving to stand closer to the fire, Maxwell crossed his arms and stuffed his hands under his armpits, huffing fogged air as he tried to distract himself. He had no idea how long he should stay here, how long he should wait for the scientist to wake up. He could be in a coma for all Maxwell knew, a massive waste of supplies and time, and he really didn't know how long he was willing to stay above ground for this.

Shifting his feet, wet snow melting and making his numbed feet even worse off, Maxwell looked around a moment before his gaze settled back onto the other man. There really wasn't anything else to look at, to keep his mind off the cold.

He looked as ruggedly savage as usual, already scruffy and growing out that beard of his, but it was obviously a bit late for that. The shivering didn't seem as violent as before, as aggressive, and even though his posture hasn't loosened up Wilson did not look as pathetically corpse like as he had looked before.

Looked just as tired as usual, just as roughed up. The man had a knack for that sort of worn out, hardened aura.

Not in the very beginning, so long ago now, but The Constant had a way with things, especially shaping people.

What an odd thing to think about, that Wilson was the by product of this worlds rules, and yet here he was, having already lost to this dark place. Perhaps he wasn't at his most refined just yet.

Maxwell shivered, giving the fire a passing glance. He himself wasn't even close to that sort of change, no matter his time here. Or what he has already given up.

The night dragged on, as it usually did, and at some point he found himself almost falling over due to dozing off and boredom, legs growing numb. There was nothing for him to do here and he was getting awfully cold.

He eyed the other man and the cloak he had given up, shivering. Sort of wanted that back, now that more time has passed and he didn't feel as kindly.

He shuffled his feet, tried to get more feeling into them, and was rewarded with cold discomfort and pins and needles before hunching his shoulders in defeat.

Fine then.

He carefully walked over to the other man's prone form, watching his step and trying to not sway all too much. It took more dilly dallying, trying to figure a plan of action, a way to get the blanket without wasting the energy he had expended giving Wilson it, before finally deciding he was cold, the makeshift blanket was big enough, and if he sat down right he'd fit on the grass roll as well.

Not the best plan in the world, but better than shoving the scientist out of the cloak and wasting everything. As if this wasn't a waste already, being out here, instead of back in the caves and its silence, its odd, deep sounds echoing from the crevices and gaps of this world.

A moment was spent as he fiddled with the cloak, hands trembling from the cold as he figured out where he wanted to place himself, and with both an equal amount of anxious care and hasty apathy Maxwell finally was able to uncurl it and have it drape over his lap, which while not the warmest offering was certainly better than standing around in the cold. Wilson didn't respond much, curled a little tighter maybe, and now Maxwell was uncomfortably close to the other man. Seated on the soaked grass roll, having taken in the snow underneath it, he had situated himself near to the other man's head, hip close and crossing his arms and huffing at it all.

But at least his legs were getting warmer. The pins and needles flared up a moment, caused him to grit his teeth and glare at the fire, before they faded and his body temperature stabilized. Wilson stayed unconscious, near silent even.

Except for the shivering. Maxwell glanced at the other man, brow furrowing as, this close now, he could still see the man shivering up a storm. The thermal stone should have fixed that, but then again, it wasn't the best for steady, unchanging warmth.

Or maybe it was just not a good stone. The damn things were tricky to make.

Well, too bad then. If he was shivering, it meant he had enough energy, and Maxwell has already given him everything he had on him.

Nothing else to do but wait, he supposed.

It didn't take long to start dozing, no matter the chill creeping up from the darkness. Heat soaked fur cloak and the strong fire were enough, and even the presence of the other man seemed to help with warmth. It certainly wasn't the most comfortable, hunching his shoulders and crossing his arms in his lap, hoping his legs wouldn't fall asleep while sitting like so, but it was enough for his eyes to get heavy and for him to slow down a bit.

The pop of the fire snapping something made him blink awake for a moment, slow as almost sleep clung to him, and the fire wasn't even that low just yet, as if not much time had passed at all.

Maxwell blinked at the dancing flame, blurry eyed and mind a little scrambled from whatever half dreams and images had ghosted by him in his rest; nothing particularly jarring, but it was enough confusion for him to feel a little off balance.

Not sleeping well made his actual sleep all the worst, apparently. Insomnia was worsened out here, on the surface; at least in the caves he could actually drift for awhile, before an echoed sound or Wendys stiff, apathetic voice got him back to his feet. 

There was movement next to him, still only half awake and feeling even more exhausted than he had before, and when he looked over Wilson was certainly shivering a lot still. 

For a moment he tried to ignore it, close his eyes and pretend that the movement, the waves of trembling from the other man next to him wasn't really there, wasn't actually grating on his nerves, tired out as he was. Unpredictable, and he could feel the cloak shift with Wilson's shaking, tugging in his lap.

When the cloak almost slipped from him, a sudden huff of cold air to replace any warmth he had accumulated from the fur insulation, it was the last straw.

Tired as he was, still not quite as clear headed with fatigue and the chill dragging on him, Maxwell did the first thing he could think of that would stop undesirable movement and keep him warm.

His arms shook already, probably more exhausted than he thought he was, but Maxwell, with a little roughness and frustration, took up the other man and tugged the scientist into his own lap. He didn't pull him up all the way, half on Maxwell and half off, and for a moment there was a brief movement as Wilson reacted to being manhandled, claws clawing harshly into the cloak and curling his legs up, but Maxwell had already wrapped his arms around him and got himself comfortable.

With that out of the way, closing his eyes and face frowning harshly as he felt Wilson shiver in his grip, Maxwell huffed out a sigh. Already the man was starting to stop trembling, was just a warm, stocky presence in his arms, pressed to him, and almost unconsciously he let his hands rest in the man's mess of hair, taking a deep breath of air as he himself started to untense.

It took a little longer for him to actually realize what he was doing, to actually fully wake up from his drained, half sleep state into something a little more clear headed.

There was a certain stillness, to this, and he had to steel himself for a moment, looking down at the other man's rugged face, brow furrowed and face lined with stress. There was enough in him to remove his hands, awkwardly trying to find a way to hold himself now before just crossing his arms over his chest, taking deep breaths to keep calm.

There wasn't much he could do now, and getting the man off of him wasn't the logical thing to do. After all, Wilson was certainly not shivering anymore.

Maxwell held his breath as the man shifted, thankfully still not awake, claws curling and uncurling, and he knew he wasn't the warmest, most comfortable form to be laying upon but perhaps it was just because he was the only source of warmth and presence to latch onto, and a cold person, no matter their awareness, would probably edge themselves to the warmest source.

Which was what Maxwell explained to himself, anyway, especially with Wilson suddenly curling up close and practically cuddling against him.

Not exactly where he thought he'd be at this point in time.

But...it was certainly far warmer and more comfortable than standing by the fire. The sudden stress to this was something to be expected.

There was a certain amount of discomfort, to be examining someone whilst they were asleep, though he's done it before frequently enough. Not much else to do when tied down and hovering in the darkness, waiting for everyone to wake up in the morning just to send hounds after.

This was a little different, that was for certain.

Maxwell released his held breath, trying to relax himself, the tenseness already making his back ache. It was certainly an odd thing, to watch someone usually so roughened and hard faced start to untense, face relaxing and smoothing out in sleep. The usual hint of confusion was gone as well, which was an interesting change to be seeing.

The man looked different, somehow.

Maxwell was frowning, unsure and thoroughly unhappy with the fact that he had even decided to venture from the caves, but that didn't stop whatever feeling that was swirling in his throat from being there, that made him feel a little light headed.

Perhaps it was just the act of being close to someone, physically close. Touch always made him a little antsy, even before coming to this place.

He tried to not breathe too deeply, didn't want to disturb the sleeping man, though he shouldn't worry with how much he's been handling him. Wilson had been unconscious in the cold for some unknown amount of time, no telling how long until he awoke.

Which, for some reason, Maxwell was hoping he'd actually be doing at some point.

Maybe not right now, but sometime soon.

He quelled the thought, because no matter the time and energy spent he shouldn't be caring at all. And he certainly didn't care, not one bit, nope.

Uncurling one hand, moving his fingers a moment to bring more feeling back into them, Maxwell hesitated, certainly feeling some things he stubbornly put no name to. It wasn't his right to.

With that in mind, before attempting to clear and ignore everything else, he carefully set his hand forward, brushed his fingers over the man's cheek, just watching.

He didn't know what he was doing, but Maxwell grit his jaw and ignored all that, because he was more interest in something else than his own thoughts for once.

The scientist didn't react, was practically dead to the world, though his breath was even and he wasn't shaking, didn't seem to be on that cusp anymore. More relaxed than anything else, and it showed in his face, in the open, clearer way he looked. 

The change, in how someone looked unconscious, asleep, was always a difficult one to see, especially in this place.

Maxwells hand trailed to the mans hairline, thick and damp and already dirtied it seems, to temple and then, after a moment of more hesitance, rested his palm on Wilson's head. He had no idea on if the man ever even looked this way before being trapped here, if he had ever been so relaxed.

And to think he was only this way because Maxwell had let himself be swayed into minor kindness. The man would have been dead by now if not for him.

Maxwell let a sigh slip through him, shoulders untensing. Would that have been better, then?

The silence lay heavy about him, the night steady on as always, and for a brief moment it actually felt sort of…

Comforting, in a way.

And then the fire popped again, a snap as logs crumbled and charred, and Maxwell noticed how low it was getting.

Well, that was the end of that then. 

He was more careful this time around, lifting the stouter man as best as he could and slipping away, taking a second to eye him before huffing a breath between his clenched teeth and attempting to make the cloak a little more comfortable, bundled and warmer now. The thermal stone didn't burn at the touch, was still there but still warm enough, and he let it be after stuffing it under the furs.

His efforts seemed to be enough, and Wilson kept the peaceful look about him, making Maxwell almost envious again.

A part of him still wanted his cloak back.

Dusting himself off, more of a nervous habit than anything else, he swung around and unhurriedly dug out a few more wood pieces. He had enough for awhile yet, but they were not full blown logs and wouldn't last forever.

Tossing them into the fire pit, straightening his back and trying to ease the aching already setting in, Maxwell looked around for a moment, listened as the darkness continued its business outside the ring of light. 

It seemed he was back to being bored. How unfortunate.

Lacking anything better to do, he shuffled around where light met darkness, keen and mildly alert to the dead silence out there. A part of him was starting to feel as if he's spent too long on the surface now; hounds still patrolled for prey, and there was always the chance of another giant stumbling upon the area. The longer he was up here, the more dangerous.

At least in the caves there was some sort of assurance. Natural lights and mushroom forests had an appeal to them that ensures visibility, though nothing more.

The cave ins were a danger, but that was a given. He'd rather have that cloud over his head than the eternal blindness of up here.

It took a moment for him to notice anything peculiar happening in the light itself, all too preoccupied with what could be outside it instead.

His heart did a mild stutter when he turned back around to see Wilson sitting up, hair disheveled and looking both incredibly tired and incredibly confused. It took all he had to not fall over from the rather odd shock of it, since he certainly was starting to expect the man to not ever wake up.

Wilson looked around a moment, blinking and generally looking as if he was missing something, before his gaze landed on Maxwell.

Who quickly schooled himself with crossed arms and an irritated sneer.

“Finally you wake up.” He lifted his head, practically to look down his nose at the man and with no sense of haste made his way to his pack and lantern, keeping an eye on the scientist. It felt odd, stilted, to be talking to Wilson again, and it was really just the act of talking that made it worse off.

Wendy cared not for idle conversation, after all.

And now he had placed himself in a situation where he would have to speak.

“And here I was beginning to think I'd have to leave you to your freezing, with how long that took.”

Wilson still seemed out of it, but his brow furrowed and he was able to glare at Maxwell, mouth a thin frown. But he apparently had more important things in mind and looked away, out into the night.

“It's still dark?” Not even any appreciation shown, of course, but Maxwell turned his head to look in the same direction, the swirling blindness surrounding their fires light. He tapped his fingers on his arm, crossing them a little tighter perhaps, before clearing his throat.

“I suppose I shouldn't be expecting a ‘thank you’, then?” Standoffish, but he could care less. Wilson was apparently a fool.

The man ignored his words, rubbing a hand over his mouth before going silent a moment, eyes looking about out there as he obviously got lost in thought. 

When he turned back to Maxwell face hardened and walled off as usual, he had to scoff, breaking eye contact to scoop up his bag and fiddle with the wood in there, to look busy.

“What's going on.” 

Not even a question, that, but Maxwell let it be, not caring enough to even look at the other man.

“I would think it's fairly obvious, Higgsbury. I saved your life from the unfortunate end of freezing to death, from the kindness of my heart.” The lack of actual kind emotion in his voice hopefully clued the man in on how much Maxwell was finding himself inconvenienced. It wasn't worth it to waste the wood, but he tossed it in anyway, watched the spark of embers thrown up and about before fizzling out in the cold. “And, I'm sure you've noticed but perhaps the cold has addled you, this land has a few different rules to it and you just had the misfortune of waking into its winter.”

He stood up, pack in hand, weighing his options. It took the fires mumbling sounds to decide for him; after all, it was a pain to start one out here. 

Even with its meagre warmth, better than nothing else. He had all the time in the world, apparently.

Wilson didn't answer for a minute, and when he turned around the man was looking out into the dark again, frown heavy set on his face.

Well, it had been a harsh wake up call when he first arrived here. He should give the man a little leeway, perhaps.

Setting himself down a little heavily, back still aching with background pain and the creeping in chill to his joints, Maxwell set his bag in his lap and started to dig through it, heaving a sigh. The man a foot or so away from him was watching him with narrowed eyes, claws still clinging to the cloak he had in his lap, the tiredness having finally faded from him and only leaving a harsh, semi confused air about him.

Better than aggression, at least.

With that thought in mind, Maxwell found what he was looking for and, without looking at him, offered it over to Wilson.

It took only a few seconds before it was snatched from him and he didn't even have to look to know Wilson was tearing into the jerky with the ferocity of someone who hasn't eaten in quite awhile. What he expected already, at any rate.

He had a few more in the bag, for emergencies only, and pushed them away to get the other provision he had explicitly for himself.

Wendy didn't touch the stuff unless mixed with something else, which was a fairly good thing. Mushrooms had their pros and cons, and these ones, while filling, took it out on a person's willpower.

His own was well enough as it was, so he didn't mind.

It wasn't fresh, nor stale, the cold keeping it good enough, and he didn't give it more than a quick once over before he started to eat the blue cap.

There was silence between them, for a few moments at least, something a little less tense in wakefulness, and the cap was bland and bready in his mouth but it was better nothing.

He remembered, from far back, the creation of these damnable things, fungi sprouting up due to changes in lighting. The blue ones thrived in this world, sprang up so quickly down in the caves, and it was a necessary staple down there.

He had little liking for the cluster of them, the sticky sweetness of the red all but poison for the foolish and hungry, the salty slimness of the green tempting but not quite worth it at times. He handled the greens with care, when he came across them, but found the blues a much better substitute.

Such a funny thing to think about, surviving off of such a fungus. And to think of what he had in mind when it first started to grow out here, of faithful stories and its wonders of an all omnipotent god of which he decidedly took mantle of.

Blasphemous, but the nightly manna sprouting in total darkness, with its deadly, mind altering, weakening effects was an ironic choice at the time.

Too ironic maybe, he thought to himself, chewing on the thick texture and its almost bread like consistency. Too late to take it back now.

It took a moment to feel Wilsons eyes on him, searing and barred off, and he took his time before deciding to give some sort of response.

Which was grab out another piece of his ever small cache of actual meat to toss over, not caring to even see if Wilson caught it.

But it seems he misjudged, since instead of just devouring what Maxwell had thrown at him Wilson cleared his throat, enough of a nervous sound to make him almost look over.

But he didn't, stubbornly watching the fire and ignoring the cold drain in the back of his mind as the blue cap took its effect. At least his belly felt fuller now.

“...Why are you doing this?” The question itself finally made him glance, watching the other man shake his head with the jerky in hand, as if he hasn't worded himself properly. “Obviously this place isn't...normal, and I…”

The scientist seemed to be having trouble articulating himself. Maxwell waited a moment, just to see if he could say anything clearer, before swallowing down the last of the mushroom and brushing his hands off, closing up the pack.

“May I ask you something, Higgsbury?”

Wilson was looking at him, while he staunchly ignored that in favor of staring into the fire, his own thoughts preoccupied as they were.

“Where were you, before you arrived here?”

There was no reason to even ask, not even curiosity, but something else perhaps. Whatever it was, it made his heart sink as Wilson started to talk, voice clear and not at all fogged just yet.

“Somewhere more normal than this, that is for sure. The nights didn't last this long.” A brief pause, Maxwell watching the flames dance about as they lowered, the cold creeping into his spine. “I was with a few others, if that's what you wanted to know. Everything was fine.”

Another pause, and then suddenly Wilsons voice turned harsh. “Was this your doing? It's all too similar. I may not remember everything but this is too familiar and I know whose fault it was then.”

“It's not by my hand. I'd not put myself through such trials.” Maxwell's answer was curt, empty, and that seemed to calm the other man.

“Well, still. This isn't right, doesn't make any sense.” Wilson paused, as if holding his breath a moment, before his voice flagged and grew weary. “I had been expecting the sunrise, had been looking forward to it ever since I got here.”

Maxwell didn't answer him on that, his own familiarity of this place cracking a little upon hearing someone's bemoaning. 

It surely would be nice, to see the sky lighten and a sun, as watery and weak as it was, to rise upon this land. But he shouldn't place so much hope on something so hopeless.

“...It wasn't even violent.” The man was muttering now, Maxwell glancing over to see him picking at the jerky absentmindedly. “Everything was going so well, and I had been doing so well. Everyone was fine, everything in place and safe even.”

There was a period of silence as the man gave in and ate the dried meat, lost in his thoughts, and Maxwell let his own churn emptily.

“Peaceful passings are so rare, especially for me, I'm sure you know that.” Wilson wasn't looking at him, but the words were indeed directed to him. “Why am I here, after all that?”

Something about the wording, implications, was suddenly enough for the patience in him to run dry.

Maxwell stood up, ignored the creaking of his own body from the sudden movement and the cold that had settled into him, fighting himself into not shivering as best as he could. Pack in hand before swinging it upon his shoulder, its now lighter weight both a blessing and a threat, before he turned around to face the other man.

A few steps and he was in front of him, Wilson giving him a confused, abet cautious look, and Maxwell suddenly felt rather irritated about nothing in particular.

“Off.” A sharp order, which led to the mans face becoming even more confused, and rolling his eyes Maxwell stooped down in one quick movement, grabbed the hem of the cloak and tugged it upwards.

It made the man yelp with the sudden intrusion of cold air, but Maxwell couldn't care less as he turned away to swing the cloak about his own shoulders, hiding the shivering in his shoulders.

“What the hell are you doing!?”

“I'd think that obvious.” Maxwell glared at him, watched Wilson stand up and sway, crossing his arms over his chest and already start to shiver. He returned to his lantern, scooping it up as Wilson found the dropped thermal stone, claws tight around its warm pebbled surface.

Maxwell sniffed at that, but let it be. He had his cloak back; the stone was nothing to him anyway.

Wilson was giving him an odd look, so he elaborated.

“Since I do not wish to be here anymore, I'm leaving back to my own camp.” Something sharp and angry flashed in his chest, still left over from what Wilson had been babbling about earlier, and it left a raw taste in his mouth but he snarled it out either way. “If you wish to accompany me, I cannot dissuade you, but otherwise stay here and have another one of your _peaceful_ passings.”

He didn't waste time watching for a reaction, immediately turning away and flicking the lantern back on, its glowing hum loud now in the silence of night. The fires flame was slower now, but the fur cloak had been warmed by another body, no matter the stature, and Maxwell tightened it about him and set off, snow crunching underfoot.

For a moment, he heard nothing behind him, mind turning chaotically and finding his own ragged, angry puffs of air fading into background layers, as they've always done. 

Then footfalls behind him, fast and hurried to catch up, and for a split moment he actually slowed his pace, calming himself in the dark silence.

No words were passed between them, Wilson clinging to the thermal stone as he shivered and shook, Maxwell stubbornly ignoring the man as he continued on, back passed the burned husk of a tree and down the incline.

The entrance to the caves was not all that far, truly, and he hesitated only a moment before finding a roundabout way to keep from slogging through deep snow.

In the corner of his eye, Wilson looking upon the deep tracks that had been made earlier as they turned another direction, Maxwell caught sight of the man nodding a moment, cradling the stone close.

It was probably the only appreciative gesture he was going to get, and he took it either way, calming considerably.

Perhaps he didn't regret this awful venture, then.

**Author's Note:**

> Someday I'll open the server up, but for now
> 
> Custom game Plus with forever night and playing with 1 person every once in awhile is nice.


End file.
